


Divine Sonata

by helloberry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Prophets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-04 07:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17894183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloberry/pseuds/helloberry
Summary: “Look, Stella. There are some things we have to explain and figure out — things about what happened to you and why. Until we have some answers, you need to stay somewhere safe.”“He wasn’t a normal man, was he?” she asked tentatively. Once again their eyes met in the mirror.“No, Stella. He wasn’t normal.”





	1. Chapter 1

Stella couldn’t breathe. The man was at least twice her size. She lay flat on her back, bearing his full weight and struggling to draw air into her lungs. She sucked in tiny, hitching breaths as tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t even scream.

The horrible, airless feeling was almost enough to distract her from what he was doing. Almost. One of her arms was pinned between them, the other desperately punching, scratching, and grabbing his back, sides, head — whatever she could reach. It was like he didn’t even feel it.

Stella felt like she was being ripped in half. It was agony. Things began to grow fuzzy around the edges of her vision and she struggled to stay conscious, knowing that if she blacked out she would never wake up again.

 

*****

 

Dean rounded the corner, knife drawn and ready. He was prepared for a fight, but he wasn’t prepared for this. She was powerless, trapped underneath him with her skirt hitched up, and nearly unconscious. Dean’s stomach rolled in revulsion.

He drew back the knife and quickly moved forward.

 

*****

 

Blood poured onto Stella’s face, neck, and chest. She was coughing, gagging, and completely bewildered. Had he stabbed her? It wasn’t until his huge, dead weight was rolled off of her that she realized it was his blood, not hers. A man knelt beside her, knife in hand.

Her attacker was dead. She numbly pushed the hem of her skirt down, covering herself as she rolled shakily onto her hands and knees, gasping for air.

“You okay?”

The gruff voice sounded distant. She couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming nausea that had overtaken her.

Stella crawled into a corner and vomited. She felt a hand twist gently into her hair, holding it back from her face and neck. When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and tried to breathe normally. She felt a cool sensation on her arm and stared in hazy confusion as the man stuffed a flask back into his jacket.

“Hey.”

She looked up, finally seeing his face. Her mind was going everywhere, a thousand places at once. Strangely, she thought back to a quote from her favorite childhood book.

_ Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. _

“Look, this is fucked up, I know. But we have to move. There could be more of them.”

It took her a moment to understand. She felt sluggish, uncomprehending. But it finally clicked. He wanted her to stand; to go with him. Strong hands grasped her under the elbows and lifted her to her feet. She wobbled, but only once. She had to keep it together until they were outside, away from this place.

 

*****

 

Dean saw that she was stable and nodded once, turning toward the door. 

"Stick close okay?” he called over his shoulder. He felt her hand grasp the back of his jacket, and then they were moving. Dean jogged toward the exit, knife at the ready and eyes darting over every square inch of the dilapidated warehouse. Around the last corner he nearly ran headlong into Sam.

“All clear?” Dean questioned. Sam nodded. “Yeah, found a few more in the basement, but I took-” Sam stopped dead, noticing the woman. “Who’s that?”

Dean motioned Sam forward and they moved toward the exit. “She’s innocent.”

 

*****

The other man was huge. Just the sight of him made Stella’s heart pound. She felt the blood rush in her ears and she shook her head, clinging to clarity and forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. She didn’t look up again, just kept her eyes on the man’s big boots until she felt the cold night air hit her face.

She gulped in the fresh air but didn’t let go of his jacket. A few minutes later they were beside a sleek black car, and she slid into the backseat numbly. Her rescuer got behind the wheel and was driving before the other man even had time to close the passenger door. The big man turned immediately, face full of concern.

“Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She knew he was talking to her, but she couldn’t get  her brain to cooperate. It felt slow and frantic all at the same time.  She looked down and realized why he looked so horrified: Blood everywhere.

Stella lifted her red hands and stared at them before her body began shaking uncontrollably.

 

*******

 

Dean drove fast, gunning it toward their motel. 

“Dean, she’s hurt,” Sam said in concern. Dead glanced in the rearview mirror. The woman was shaking so hard she was nearly convulsing. Her eyes were like saucers and her breaths were coming in short gasps.

“It’s not her blood, Sam. But I think she’s in shock.”

Sam turned once more toward the backseat. “Hey, my name’s Sam. This is my brother, Dean. We’re gonna help you, okay?” Sam searched her face for some kind of response, but the woman gave no indication that she had heard him. She was far off, somewhere else entirely. Sam took in her ripped and bloodied clothes, her bare feet and bruised face. “Dean…” he began, tearing his eyes away from the backseat and looking at his brother questioningly. Dean shook his head sharply.

“Not now, Sammy.”

They finally pulled up to the crummy motel. Dean slid out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door. He slowly, cautiously leaned down to look at her. “Hey, we’re here. We’re gonna go inside so you can clean up. Then we’re going somewhere safe.” Dean waited, but she didn’t move. “I’m gonna help you out of the car now, okay?” When she didn’t respond, Dean reached tentatively toward her. His fingers grazed her upper arm and she flinched violently, looking at him in shock as if she was just now noticing him. He withdrew quickly, holding his hands out in supplication.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” No response. “Let me help you inside. We’re gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”

This time she didn’t react when his fingers closed around her arm. She allowed him to guide her out of the car and toward the motel room door. Dean slid the key into the lock as Sam stood sentry a few feet away, his eyes scanning the parking lot suspiciously.

 

*****

The motel room was grungy and outdated, but Stella didn’t notice. She couldn’t seem to control the tremors that still wracked her body.

The men shut the door and got to work at once, gathering clothing, books, and laptops and stuffing them into duffel bags. Stella stood dumbly, unsure of what to do next. The shorter man, her rescuer, approached with a stack of clothes. He guided her across the room and to another door.

“Go in the bathroom and take a shower. Scrub off the blood and you’ll feel better, okay?” She looked down and saw the blood again, feeling faint but nodding so he’d know she understood. “Here’s a clean change of clothes,” He set the clothes on the counter along with a towel. “Take as much time as you need, but we’re getting out of here as soon as you’re done.” She searched his face, wondering why he was doing this. Why weren’t they just taking her to a hospital?

“You good?” he grunted. When she nodded, he shut the door sharply and she was alone.

Stella started the shower with shaking hands and peeled her blood-soaked clothing off, stuffing them into the wastebasket in revulsion. The hot water stung her sensitive skin as she stepped under the flow and closed her eyes. For the first time in hours, she felt her brain unfogging.

 

*****

 

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” The brothers stood on the stoop outside their motel room, leaving the door cracked so they could hear the woman if she called out. Their bags were packed and ready to load into Baby the moment Stella was finished.

“I found her in the warehouse, Sammy — with one of _ them _ . I killed him, that’s where all the blood came from.” Dean exhaled, looking exhausted and sickened. “She was raped.” 

Sam stared. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe-”

“I saw it, Sam. I _interrupted_ it. I slit the fucker’s throat while he was still on top of her.” Sam looked stricken. Dean ran a hand over the rough stubble on his face. He needed a stiff drink. The brothers stood in silence for a few minutes before Sam spoke again.

“She’s going to need some supplies. I saw a drug store a few miles back.”

 

*****

 

Stella wiped the condensation away from the mirror and stared at herself. The blood was gone, but she was still frightened by what she saw. A deep bruise was blooming across her right cheekbone where he had hit her. Her chest, arms, and thighs were covered in bruises, too. In that moment, Stella realized how much she  _ ached _ . Blue handprints stood out against the white skin of her throat. Tears sprung to her eyes as she sank onto the toilet seat and rested her forehead against the cool surface of the countertop. She tried to focus on her breathing: In, out, in, out, in, out. 

_ Don’t think about it. Not now. Just breathe, in and out, in and out. _

The knot in her chest was just beginning to loosen when she heard a knock on the door. 

“Hey, it’s Dean.”

_ Dean? _ A sudden, vague memory of the man in the passenger seat.

_ Hey, my name’s Sam. This is my brother, Dean. We’re here to help you. _

Dean. Her rescuer. His gruff voice spoke again. “Sam went to the store and got you some...stuff. I’m going to leave it here and go outside, okay? When you’re done I’ll be out there waiting.” A beat passed. “Will you just say something so I know you’re alive?”

“Okay,” she said, surprised at the croaky sound of her own voice. She heard the outer door to the motel open and close. Tightening the towel around herself, she cracked the bathroom door to retrieve the bag.

_Supplies?_ She peered inside. Bottled water, Maxi pads, Tylenol, cotton underwear, and the Plan B pill. Stella felt a strange combination of relief, gratitude, and humiliation wash over her. She swallowed the pills and put a pad into a pair of fresh underwear. She would probably be bleeding for a while.

Next, she slowly dressed in the sweat pants, t-shirt, and flannel that Dean had left for her. The clothes swallowed her, but she was glad for something baggy to wear because of her tender skin. At least the pants had a drawstring. She took one more look in the mirror before steeling herself to leave the bathroom.

 

****

 

True to his word, Dean was standing outside the motel door when she appeared. Her long dark hair was still dripping, leaving wet patches against his flannel shirt. In any other circumstance, he would have chuckled at how big his clothes were on her. 

He was glad to see her free of all that blood. “You ready?” he asked. She nodded and followed him to the car, clutching the plastic bag of supplies in a way that made his chest tighten.

Sam had laid a blanket across the backseat to cover the blood, and Dean tried not to think about how long it would take to get the leather clean again. He opened the door for her and she climbed into the backseat, considerably steadier than she had been before. Sam already sat in the passenger seat, ready to go. He turned and looked at her, face once again full of concern, but didn’t speak. Dean slid behind the wheel and started Baby up.

“Everyone good to go?” He looked at Sam, and then into the rearview mirror. The woman’s green eyes met his own. She nodded. They rode in silence until they hit the highway, when Dean was surprised to hear her speak from the back seat.

“Where are we going?”

Sam turned to look at her. “Our place. It’s safe, and there’s plenty of room. You’ll have privacy.” Her brow furrowed. “Why can’t I go home?” The brothers exchanged looks, and this time it was Dean that spoke.

“Look, ah- what’s your name?” he asked into the mirror.

“Stella,” she replied, barely over a whisper.

“Look, Stella. There are some things we have to explain and figure out — things about what happened to you and why. Until we have some answers, you need to stay somewhere safe.”

“He wasn’t a normal man, was he?” she asked tentatively. Once again their eyes met in the mirror.

“No, Stella. He wasn’t normal.” Stella nodded but didn’t ask anything further. Dean realized she probably couldn’t stand anything else tonight.

The brothers stared at the road in front of them as Stella closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in Season 8, with some changes to the story line :-)

The following morning Sam and Dean woke early and took their coffee in the library, where Dean cleaned his gun and Sam tapped furiously on his laptop. After a while, Sam banged his fist on the table triumphantly. Dean raised an eyebrow in response.

“Listen to this: Stella Loughman, 26 years old, disappeared from her home in Denver three days ago,”

“You found her?” Dean asked incredulously. “How? We didn’t even know her last name.”

Sam shrugged. “I just searched for missing persons named ‘Stella’ in Colorado. Easy.” Dean shrugged before motioning for Sam to keep reading.

“Loughman is wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of her roommate, Rachel Wendler, 27 years old,” He paused, his brow wrinkled. “Shit. It says Rachel’s body was found in their apartment three days ago. Her throat had be cut. No one has seen Stella since.”

Dean set his gun down and stared at his younger brother. “So they think Stella ganked her roommate and then got the hell outta dodge?”

“Guess so. Or, at least, that’s their theory. Do you think she had something to do with it?”

Dean scoffed. “No way. I’m thinking the demons from the warehouse broke into their place, killed Rachel, and took Stella. She may not even know her friend is dead.”  

****

Stella woke with a start, disoriented and groggy. She peered at the clock on the bedside table and was shocked to see it was already 10am. She never slept this late.

After a moment of panic, she remembered where she was. The memories came back in sickening tidal waves. The warehouse. Torture.  Sam and Dean.

They had gotten to the bunker late last night. Stella had slept most of the way but was still exhausted when they arrived. Sam showed her around briefly but it was obvious she could barely keep her eyes open. She didn’t react to the size of the bunker or even to the fact that they lived in a bunker at all. He showed her to an empty room where she fell into a deep — thankfully dreamless — sleep.

Stella moved to sit up and gasped. She felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Lifting her shirt gingerly, she saw that the bruises on her stomach and ribs had blossomed overnight. Her own skin reminded her of _Starry Night_.

Moving slowly, she left the room and found her way to the bathroom, barely remembering last night’s tour. Seeing her reflection, she was glad she hadn’t run into Sam or Dean in the hallway. Her wavy hair had dried into something resembling a rat’s nest on the top of her head. Her eyes looked sunken and dark; her cheekbone stood out prominently, puffy and raspberry-colored.

Someone had left another pair of clean sweats on the sink along with a new toothbrush and comb. The bag of supplies Sam had bought was hanging neatly on the rack beside a fresh towel.

Stella showered once again, staring determinedly at the wall. She didn’t want to see her mottled and tender skin. The hot water stung the wounds on her body, but it loosened up her aching joints. After drying off, dressing, and brushing her teeth, Stella hesitantly left the bathroom. She heard their deep voices drifting down the hall and anxiety started creeping into her chest.

She’d always been bad at meeting new people and making small talk, even in good circumstances. Stella was an introvert, through and through. She didn’t have many friends back in Denver, and she was okay with that. All she needed was a few close people and she was satisfied. Living with her best friend Rachel was really the only social outlet she needed.

 _Rachel._ She must be going crazy with worry. _She probably thinks I’m dead._

She had to get home. Sam and Dean could help. Swallowing her anxiety, she moved toward their voices.

****

Dean’s eyes darted up when he saw a flicker of movement in the doorway. Stella stood hesitantly, obviously unsure if she should come in. Her hair was wet again and she was wearing the new clothes he’d laid out. The sleeves of his flannel shirt fell past her fingertips and she had rolled the hems up on his sweatpants several times.

Sam saw him looking and followed his gaze to the doorway.

“Stella! You’re up!” He smiled warmly and waved her in. She went to an empty chair at the table and sat, trying to smile but looking extremely uncomfortable. Dean noticed how gingerly she moved and how she’d winced, almost imperceptibly, as she sat. Her cheek was an angry red and handprint-shaped bruises marked her neck.

Dean felt heat rising into his own neck and face, and he struggled to remain impassive. She’d been through enough and didn’t need to see him get angry the moment she woke up.

He waited until Sam had fixed her up with some toast and coffee before venturing to ask, “How’re you feeling?” She shrugged, pushing the toast aimlessly around her plate.

“Okay I guess,” she paused before continuing. “A little sore. But I slept well.”

Sam nodded. “Your cheek looks pretty banged up. It’s probably going to take a few days before the soreness goes away.”

The room dissolved into an awkward silence until Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. They were going to have to talk about it sometime.

“So, Stella. Do you wanna tell us what happened yesterday?”

“Dean, she just woke up! Give her a minute to breathe.” Sam scolded. But Stella started shaking her head.

“No, it’s okay Sam. As much as I appreciate your hospitality, I really wanna go home. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner I can do that, right?”

The brothers exchanged a look before Dean went on. “Why don’t you just tell us what happened. How did you get to the warehouse?”

Stella swallowed and pushed her toast aside, wrapping her small fingers around the steaming mug of coffee.

“It was a few days ago, right when I was leaving work. This guy showed up in the parking garage and tried to talk to me, but I got in my car and locked the door. I thought I’d be safe.” She paused then, her brow wrinkled.

“What happened next?” Sam asked encouragingly. For the first time that morning, she made eye contact with him. He was surprised at how green her irises were. Her next words came out in a whisper.

“You won’t believe me. It sounds crazy…”

Dean had to stop himself from snorting. “Try us. You’d be surprised.”

“Black smoke came out of his mouth in a huge cloud. It swirled around my car and then started pouring in through the air vents. It...it went _in_ me.” She looked sickened as she spoke but was surprised to see that the brothers didn’t bat an eye.  “You believe me?”

“We believe you,” Sam said.

She looked relieved, if not a little skeptical. “I was still there, still conscious, but I wasn’t in control. He — I — drove out of the city and to the warehouse. It was the most awful feeling, like being a passenger inside my own body,” she shuddered. “When we got to the warehouse the smoke came out and I was myself again.”

“And that was the day we found you? Did he say why he took you?” Dean questioned.

“No, I was there for a few days before you guys showed up,” she admitted, staring miserably at the table. “I still don’t know why they wanted me.”

“A few days?” Sam looked horrified. When Stella remained silent, he decided to press her. “Stella,” he said gently, “What happened while you were there?”

She swallowed thickly. “They tortured me. The man from the garage plus a few more. There must have been five or six all together.”

“What did they do?” Dean ventured to ask. Stella looked like she wanted to shrink in on herself.

“You saw.” He forced his face to remain neutral and nodded.

“Plus using me like a punching bag and a carving station. And they possessed me. They took turns possessing me and—” She stopped abruptly, clenching her jaw. She stared fixedly at her feet.  

Sam was filled with compassion, but he had to get to the bottom of it. “Stella, they were demons.” That got her attention. She stared at him, her expression was mingled horror and disbelief. He went on.

“I know that probably makes no sense right now and we’ll explain everything soon, but I still don’t understand what happened. Do you know what they wanted? Did they ask you to do anything or tell them anything?”

“I...I really don’t know. I have no idea why they would want me. I’m just an average person. I don’t even believe in God or the devil or demons.” She paused, seeming to consider something before continuing. “They kept asking me to read this piece of stone,” she offered. “It was covered in symbols that looked like hieroglyphics.” She could tell by the looks on the brothers’ faces that she had said something significant. “What?”

“And you’re sure you couldn’t read it? Not even a little?” Dean asked.

“Of course not. Like I said, it was just a bunch of symbols.” The brothers seemed to be communicating silently, and it irritated Stella. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Seems like that tidbit struck a chord with you guys.”

Dean turned to face her, deciding honesty was the only route. “There’s a tablet, a demon tablet, and it has some really important information on it that could help us get rid of demons for good. There’s a demon named Crowley that’s been trying to get it translated. The tablet has the power to close the gates of hell forever, but only a prophet of the Lord can read it. It sounds like the demons took you because they think you’re a prophet and they wanted you to read it. I’m guessing they thought you were lying and they could torture the information out of you.”

Stella gaped. It was all so absurd that she almost wanted to laugh. “Me, a prophet? Why the hell would they think I’m a prophet? I’m just a normal person. I go to work, I go home, I watch Netflix with my roommate Rachel. That’s it. That’s what I would have done that night if they hadn’t taken me. And speaking of Rachel, she’s probably going crazy right now. I have to get home so she knows I’m okay.”

Sam’s face flickered. It wasn’t lost on Stella.

“What?”

“Stella, you can’t go home yet. If you actually _are_ a prophet then you’re in danger. The demons will come back.”

“I already told you, I’m NOT a prophet. You said prophets can read the tablet thingy and I couldn’t. They got the wrong person.”

“We can’t be sure of that yet. Maybe you were too stressed to actually read it. Or maybe something else got in the way. Until we know for sure, you need to stay hidden,” Sam said, in a logical manner than infuriated Stella.

You can’t just keep me here!” She nearly shouted.

Now Dean was getting frustrated. “We aren’t ‘keeping’ you. We’re protecting you. You want a repeat of the warehouse?”

She looked as though he’d slapped her in the face. Dean immediately felt like an ass.

“Look, Stella, I didn’t mean—”

She cut him off, turning away to face Sam. “If you won’t let me go home at least let me call Rachel. I have no idea where we are so it’s not like I can reveal my location or anything.”

Sam looked pained. He reached across the table and put one of his over-sized hands across hers.

“I’m so sorry, but you can’t call Rachel.”

“Why not?” Stella asked, getting the sense that something else was going on.

“Stella, Rachel’s gone. She died the night you were kidnapped. The demons must have gone to your apartment before they found you at work.”

She pulled her hands away and stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She shook her head, unwilling to believe what she was hearing.

“No...you’re lying.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m not lying.”

“You have no way of knowing that. You’re just trying to get me to stay here!” She backed away from them until she bumped the wall. She hissed, the sharp pain in her back sending a flash of memories through her.

_The demons dragging knives down her back repeatedly, screaming at her to read the bizarre, incomprehensible symbols._

Dean rose and approached her cautiously. “Stella, we aren’t lying. We found the news report online.”

Her breath quickened and she felt the room beginning to spin. Now both brothers were standing, moving towards her. She didn’t want them so close. She was suffocating.

Dean reached out and she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

_The demons taking turns on her body, reducing her to nothing more than a shell. Their cruel laughter echoing throughout the warehouse._

Dean backed off. She was panicking, in shock, and she obviously didn’t want him to touch her.

Stella was hyperventilating now.

_Rachel, smiling from the sofa and offering a bowl of popcorn. Rachel, laughing and taking a selfie of the two of them at the beach. Rachel, holding Stella’s hand at her parents’ funeral._

_RACHEL._

It was too much. Stella couldn’t comprehend it and didn't want to try. She slid to the floor and put her head on her knees, trying to catch her breath and stop the room from spinning out of control. 

Sam and Dean gave her space once it was clear that she wouldn’t pass out. Eventually, Sam spoke softly.

“Stella, do you wanna go to your room? You can rest for awhile.” He expected her to ignore him, but she nodded.

“C’mon,” he urged gently, standing and reaching out, but when she didn’t move he bent down and gently scooped her up. Dean watched as his younger brother carried the broken, listless woman out of the library. She looked so tiny and vulnerable in Sam’s arms.

He sat down with a groan. It wasn’t even noon and he already needed a drink.

****

Sam had noticed her cringing when his arm moved against her back, and he somehow convinced her to show him. Her back was covered in long, ugly slices. He felt horrible that they hadn’t known before now. These should have been cleaned right away. A few looked angry and puffy. He’d cleaned and bandaged them as well as he could, hoping they could get Castiel to heal her before anything got infected.

As he tended to her cuts, Stella’s face had remained blank. The antiseptic had to hurt but she made no sign of noticing it.

Once Sam had her settled, he rejoined Dean in the library.

“How is she?” Dean asked.

“Sleeping now, thankfully. Dean, we need Castiel.”

“I’m already on it. He isn’t responding.”

Sam rubbed a hand down his face. “He better respond soon. He’s the only one who can tell us if she’s really a prophet. And if she is...” He trailed off.

Dean downed the rest of his drink before he finished Sam’s sentence.

“She can help us close the gates of hell.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in Season 8, with some changes to the story line :-)

Stella didn't leave her room for nearly a week. She stayed  in bed, unresponsive to their knocks. On the second evening Dean couldn’t take it anymore and went in anyway. He left a plate of food and a bottle of water while she slept. The next day, he collected the plate of uneaten food. 

Sam tried to reassure Dean that she would be fine. She was grieving. People handle loss in different ways, and after the trauma she’d experienced at the warehouse it seemed like Stella’s method of dealing with yet another blow was to completely shut down. It wasn’t that surprising, really. A person can only take so much. 

But by the fifth day, Sam was just as worried as Dean. There was a good chance she hadn’t eaten at the warehouse, which would mean she had gone over a week without food. Plus, he wanted to check the cuts on her back. The last time he tried, on the third day, she’d punched him in the shoulder. It was like being hit by a child, but he’d gotten the message loud and clear. 

They’d gone into her room together on the sixth day, determined to get her up and eating something. She seemed disoriented when she woke, but when they kept needling her she eventually yelled at them to get the fuck out. Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

Still no word from Cas. Dean had started calling him nonstop, but the angel remained frustratingly absent.

 

****

 

 On the seventh day, Sam was in the library researching when, to his shock, Stella appeared. 

“Hi,” she said, moving to sit at the table across from him.

“Hi,” he said tentatively. “Coffee?” 

“Do you have tea?” 

“Of course! How about breakfast?”

“That would be great.”

Sam practically bounded out of the library, elated that she was awake and asking for food. Stella felt a little guilty at his excitement. She’d known how worried they were — especially with Dean lumbering in every damn hour and trying to force feed her — but she just hadn’t been ready. Her grief still felt like a weight around her shoulders, but today was the first time she didn’t feel smothered by it.   

Sam returned with tea, eggs, and toast and watched with satisfaction while she ate. 

“This is delicious,” she said, smiling gratefully. “I haven’t had an appetite until today.” 

“I’m glad you’re eating. We were worried.”

“I know,” she said, “I’m sorry. I just...couldn’t deal. After everything that happened all I wanted was to see Rachel. And then when I found out—” her voice caught in her throat.

“It’s okay, I get it.” Sam said, waving away her apology. She smiled at him again, but it didn’t reach her green eyes.

“I just need some time. It was the same after I lost my parents.” 

“When was that?”

“Sophomore year of college. Car accident.” She was touched by how sad Sam looked.

“Dean and I lost our parents, too. Mom died when I was just a baby. I don’t even remember her. We lost Dad a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” Stella knew from experience there was really nothing more to say. Words felt stupid and pointless in the face of something like that. They fell into a companionable silence for a few minutes while she finished her breakfast. Afterwards, they went to the bathroom so Sam could look at her back.

He started redressing the wounds. She wore a flannel shirt backwards to give him access her to cuts without sacrificing her dignity. Sam’s idea.

She faced the mirror. Sam was kind and caring, but his body was huge and intimidating. Being in the bathroom with him felt suffocating, yet she had found that watching him in the mirror helped. Being able to see what he was doing made her fear manageable and kept the flutterings of panic to a minimum.

“Nothing looks infected. It’s healing pretty nicely, actually.” He said, totally focused on the job at hand.

“I’ve been showering at night when you guys are asleep,” she admitted. “I kept them as clean as I could.” He glanced up in surprise.

“I had no idea. I didn’t think you’d left your room at all.” She dropped her gaze, and after a moment Sam went back to work. It was several long minutes before Stella spoke again.

“I felt dirty,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “I...I still feel dirty. All the time.” His hands stilled against her back.

“Stella, look at me.” She shook her head slightly, staring at the sink and swallowing thickly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But it still feels fucking terrible.”

“Can I do anything?” He asked. She felt his eyes on her and finally looked up at them in the mirror, smiling sadly.

“No, but thanks. You’re kind, and that’s enough for now.” He nodded, going back to the bandages. 

“If you need to talk, I’m here. Dean too.”

“Where is Dean, anyway?” she asked, glad to change the subject.

 

**** 

 

“Where is Dean, anyway?”

He was surprised to hear Stella’s voice as he came in from the garage. He’d spent the morning working on Baby and his hands were covered in grease. Dean followed her voice into the bathroom, where he found Sam doctoring her wounds. 

“Glad to see you up and at ‘em!” He said, trying to sound jovial. His gaze lingered on her back. The cuts criss-crosses down her spine, nearly reaching the waistband of his sweatpants, which hung loosely off her hips. He quickly averted his eyes, focusing instead on her face. She looked thinner than before, her eyes huge and luminous against her pale skin. The bruising on her face had faded into a faint greenish-yellow. Her dark hair was piled messily on top of her head, the tips of her ears barely peeking out between strands. She was tiny, with delicate wrists and doll-like hands. Sam had to hunch uncomfortably to work on her back.

 _She’s an elf,_ Dean thought absurdly.   

“Good morning,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone.

“Alright,” Sam said, stepping back, “You’re all done!” 

She went to her room to get redressed while Dean washed his hands in the bathroom. Sam lingered in the doorway.

“She seems better,” Dean said.

“Yeah, she even ate breakfast,” Sam replied triumphantly.

“Wow, that _is_ a miracle, knowing your cooking skills.” Dean grinned as he turned away from the bathroom — and a scowling Sam.

 

**** 

 

By the late afternoon Stella was caught up on the family business, monsters, and a general overview of Sam and Dean’s story. She knew they went to the warehouse that night because they were following a lead on demon activity near Denver. She knew they were trying to close the gates of hell, which would mean no demons on Earth ever again. She knew about angels, prophets, demons, Lucifer, vampires, werewolves, and anything else they could think to mention.    

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Dean said as they wandered around the garage. He was giving her a full tour of the bunker as they talked. 

“Yeah, well, I was possessed, remember?” She said, pausing to peer through the window of a classic red convertible. “Doesn’t leave much room for doubt.” 

“True. We’ll have to get you an anti possession tattoo soon.”

“A tattoo? Why? Tattoos are tacky.”

He quirked an eyebrow, pulling aside the v-neck of his t-shirt to reveal his own tattoo.

“Oops?” She offered, grinning. He laughed. It was the first genuine smile he’d seen on her, and he liked it.

“Anyway,” he said, “It’s not about fashion. When you have one of these they can’t possess you. It’s for protection.” 

“But they can’t get in here, right?” She asked, her forehead creasing. “You said the bunker was protected.”

“Yeah, the bunker’s safe. Don’t worry,” he reassured, “The tattoo is for outside.”

“Where I’m not allowed to go,” she said with a sassy smirk, “So looks like there’s no need for a tattoo! Bummer.”

“First of all, don’t say ‘allowed’ like you’re our prisoner,” he replied dryly, “Second, haven’t you ever heard of a contingency plan? Hope for the best but expect the worst?”

“I guess.” 

“Third,” he went on, “You _are_ going outside because Sam and I aren’t exactly tattoo artists.” 

“I have to leave the bunker to get a tattoo that will keep me safe when I leave the bunker? Seems a bit circular to me, Dean.”

Now he was wrinkling his brow. “Stop it you, with your logic. Just trust me, okay? Things rarely go as planned around here.”

“Alright,” she conceded. “I trust you. But if I’m going under the needle I’m going to need some alcohol.” 

He put his hand across his chest in mock adoration. “A woman after my own heart.”

She snickered as they continued to the next car. She recognized it as the sleek, black one Dean had driven the night they met. Stella stopped cold when she saw it. The backseat was covered in blood. Dean followed her gaze. 

“I’m still working on that,” he said, “It’ll come out. Just takes some TLC.”

But the warm moment was gone, her face an unreadable mask once again.

“Thanks for the tour,” she said, backing away, “I’m gonna head inside now.”

“Stella, wait—” he began, starting to follow her.

“It’s fine, Dean. I’m just tired. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

And with that, she was gone. Dean sighed. Things had been going so well. He felt like they had been building some camaraderie until the stupid car ruined everything. He put his hand on the glossy black hood.

“Sorry Baby, I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. 

Dean was shutting off the garage lights when he heard Stella scream. Lights forgotten, he sprinted through the bunker, following the sound of her voice. She was in the kitchen. 

Dean and Sam got there at the same time, rounding the corner to find Stella, backed into the sink with a look of sheer terror plastered on her face. Cas was curiously — cluelessly — approaching her. The guy never could read social cues.

“Cas, stop!” Dean said, rushing to pull him back while Sam moved to stand in front of Stella.

“Who the fuck is that?” Stella asked shakily. “He just...appeared!” Sam turned and put a hand on her shoulder. When she leaned into him slightly, he put his arm around her.

“It’s fine, he’s a friend! He won’t hurt you.”

“Stella,” Dean said from across the room. “Meet Cas, an angel.” Her jaw dropped.

Cas was staring intently at Stella.

“What?” she asked uncomfortably.

“Dean,” Cas asked solemnly, “Where did you find a prophet of the Lord?”


	4. Chapter 4

“So she _is_ a prophet?” Dead said, releasing Cas and turning to stare at Stella with hopeful eyes.

“I’m not,” she said, looking between the three men.

“Apparently you are,” Sam said gently. She was shaking her head before he finished his sentence. 

“I’m not a prophet for chrissake!” She was getting irritated. Of course she wasn’t a prophet. Wouldn’t she know something like that? 

Cas was still staring, but he looked perplexed. “You are a prophet. Why are you denying it?” 

“Because it isn’t true!” Stella pulled away from Sam and moved towards the door, but Dean blocked her exit. 

“Move.” She said, her small fists clenched.

“Not until we figure this out,” His tone was annoyingly calm and collected, like he was trying to placate a hysterical child. It pissed Stella off. 

“I said, get the fuck out of my way. Now.”

“Dean, just let her go,” Sam said from across the kitchen.

“No Sammy, not this time. Look Stella, I know it’s been a rough week, but we gave you your space. Now Cas is here and we can actually figure this shit out. I can’t let you barricade yourself in your room again. This is too important.” He stood his ground, arms crossed firmly across his chest. 

A brilliant red flush had worked its way up Stella’s neck and into her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was low but dangerous. “I don’t want to be in this room right now. Let me pass.” She tried to edge around him, but Dean pivoted and continued to block the door. 

The complete lack of control had Stella seeing red. She tried to push past him, but Dean was an immovable object. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her easily away from the door. 

“Don’t touch me!” She snarled, trying to rip her hands away from him. He tightened his grip, and when she jerked away again they heard a sickening pop. Pain shot from her fingertips to her elbow, and Stella watched as Dean’s face morphed from stubborn annoyance to abject horror. He immediately let go and she backed away, cradling her wrist against her chest. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Dean began earnestly, before Sam interrupted. 

“What the fuck, Dean?!” He yelled, striding forward and shoving his older brother roughly. He turned to Stella and tried to take her injured wrist, but she moved away and sat in the kitchen table.

“It was an accident,” Dean said. 

“I told you to let her go!”

“I just wanted her to hear us out! I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Dean turned to Stella now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t talk to her, you broke her fucking wrist!” Sam yelled. “This is what happens when you don’t stop to think, Dean! You just plow ahead, completely laser focused on _your_ goal without giving a shit about who gets hurt in the process!”

“ _My_ goal?” Now Dean was yelling. “Like you don’t have a stake in this? We’re talking about closing the gates of hell _forever_ , Sam. Getting rid of the demons once and for all. Demons killed mom. They killed Jess. Don’t you dare tell me this is just about me. You want this, too.” 

Sam stared at him stonily. “Of course I want this. But you can’t just manhandle people — women — into doing what you want.” 

Dean looked disgusted. “Don’t make this more than it was. I already said it was an accident. It wouldn’t have happened if she had just listened to me.”

“FUCK. YOU.” Stella growled, staring up at him from the table. “You’re blaming _me_ for this? Don’t put your hands on me ever again.” 

“Stop acting like a child and I won’t have to,” he retorted, tired of being treated like a monster. “Kevin fucking died for this and you can’t even be bothered to listen to me!” 

“I DON’T KNOW WHO KEVIN IS!” She yelled back, “I didn’t even know who you people were until a week ago! Stop acting like I’m supposed to care about your cause when I don’t even know you!”

The room fell into a tense silence save for their rapid breathing. Dean turned and slammed the meaty part of his fist against the wall, earning an eye roll from Sam. Stella grimaced, laying her rapidly swelling wrist on her lap and resting her forehead on the crook of her uninjured arm. 

Cas had watched the scene deteriorate with an impassive look on his face. Now, he approached Stella and stood next to her expectantly. 

“What do you want, angel?” She asked. She didn’t bother to raise her head and her voice came out muffled and distant.

“Let me heal your wrist,” he replied, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She snorted.

“He’s serious,” Dean said flatly. “Let him heal you. It’ll work on your back, too.”

Stella raised her head and looked inquiringly at Sam. “Is this a joke?” 

“See for yourself,”

She turned to Cas and tentatively held out her wrist. He ignored it and extended his hand toward her face, causing her to flinch back.

“Sam?” she said, her voice filled with anxiety. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, moving closer and putting his hand on her shoulder. “Just relax.” 

Cas placed two fingers against her forehead, his vivid blue eyes filled with concentration. The most wonderful warming sensation ran through Stella’s body, and when Cas pulled away she realized her wrist looked and felt completely normal. She touched her cheek gingerly, but it was no longer sore. Her back, which had been stinging off and on, felt fine too. In awe, she reached under the back of her shirt and pulled a bandage free, feeling the skin underneath it for any sign of the wounds that had been there moments before. They were gone.

 

****

 

Sam, Dean, Cas, and Stella were sitting in the library. Tensions had cooled since that afternoon. Everyone seemed to be talking in the overly-polite way that often happens after a fight. It was awkward, but at least no one was yelling or getting injured. They’d filled Cas in on where Stella came from and where they found her. Now they had returned to the subject of prophets.

She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

“Okay, so say, _hypothetically_ , that I am a prophet,”

“You _are_ a prophet.” Cas replied, for what felt like the hundredth time. Stella rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, so why couldn’t I read the tablet?” She countered. “Dean said only prophets can read them, but to me it just looked like gibberish.”  Cas’ forehead creased.

“I will admit, that _is_ strange.”

“I still think it had something to do with the stress you were under,” Sam interjected, looking at Stella. “Kevin had to concentrate really hard to translate the angel tablet, and that was when he was in a totally calm environment. You were being tortured — it doesn’t seem that crazy that you wouldn’t be able to focus.” 

“Okay, who’s this ‘Kevin’ you guys keep talking about?” Stella asked.

“He was another prophet. He worked on translating the demon tablet for a few months, but he didn’t get to finish it,” Sam said sadly.

“Because he…” Stella offered.

“Died.” Dean finished flatly. Stella waited for him to continue, but he stayed silent. After their fight earlier it didn’t seem like a good idea to press him. She’d ask Sam later. 

“Okay. So what do we do now?” She asked.

“We need to get our hands on that tablet,” Dean replied. “Then we’ll see if you can read it, and if so — close the gates of hell.”

“Just like that, huh?” Said Stella, looking overwhelmed. “You make it sound so simple.” 

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Sam said. “And the first step, getting the tablet, isn’t something you have to worry about. Dean, Cas, and I will handle it.”   

She didn’t argue.

“I must go,” Cas said, standing abruptly. “I’ll check in with the other angels and see if there’s any word on the tablet.” He looked solemnly at the brothers. “I don’t need to tell you how important the prophet is. Take care of her.”

And he was gone. Stella shook her head in exhaustion. This was going to take some getting used to.

 

****

 

The brothers dove into their research while Stella went to take a nap. Her first day up and about had been chaotic to say the least.

She lay in her bed and held her healed wrist in front of her face, still amazed at what Cas had done. If you’d told her about any of this a couple of weeks ago she would have thought you were insane. But there was no denying it now — she’d experienced evil first-hand and seen a miracle with her own two eyes.

At some point she must have drifted off to sleep. Her dreams were strange, images of Rachel interspersed with Cas’ blue eyes and tan trench coat. She saw Rachel laying lifeless on the floor of their apartment, and then Cas was there — pressing his fingers against her forehead and bringing her back. Stella was overcome with joy, but then the scene spun away. 

She was in the warehouse. One of them was on top of her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. Dean appeared over his shoulder. She waited for him to rescue her, but this time no knife appeared. Dean smirked cruelly.

_Kevin died for the tablet, this is nothing. Stop being so weak._

Stella woke with a start, breathing rapidly and soaked in sweat. She sat up and put her head in her hands, waiting for her breath to slow and her heart to stop racing. Eventually she rose, peeling off her sweaty shirt and throwing it into the growing pile of gigantic clothes in the corner of her room. She grabbed a clean t-shirt — Sam’s, judging by the sheer size of it — and left her room.

She peeked into the library and saw Sam, his nose buried in a book. Not wanting to disturb him, she went into the kitchen. She had already rounded the corner when she realized Dean was there, drinking a beer and staring at his laptop. He glanced up and immediately stiffened.

Cue the awkwardness. 

“Sorry,” Stella said quickly. “I’m just getting a glass of water and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

“Take your time,” he replied, not meeting her eye. She gulped down a glass quickly and was almost out the door when he spoke again. 

“Want a beer?”

 

****

 

Dean felt horrible. For as long as he remembered, his job had been to help people. He killed monsters to keep humans safe. He prided himself on it, if he was being honest.

Stella was new to all of this shit. She’d been through hell only to find out that her life as she knew it was over. Of course she reacted badly — anyone would have. She was injured, vulnerable, and scared. And he’d hurt her. He’d _broken_ her. 

Dean wasn’t one to hold punches if a guy deserved it, but he’d _never_ hurt a woman before in his life. Not only was Stella a girl, she was especially small and delicate, dwarfed even by Cas. Dean felt sick at the idea of her being afraid of him.

When she appeared in the kitchen that evening, he wanted to smooth things over. She seemed to have already clicked with Sam, trusted him. Dean wanted her to trust him, too.

“Want a beer?” She stopped in the doorway and turned slowly, her face hesitant.

“Alright,” she finally responded, coming to sit across from him at the table. Dean cracked open a cold one and passed it to her. He was pleased when she took a long, satisfying pull from the bottle.

“You like beer?” He asked, taking a gulp of his own nearly empty bottle.

“I love it,” She said. “I live in Denver. You can’t live in Denver and hate craft beer.” 

“ _Craft_ beer,” he scoffed. “You’re one of _those_ , huh?”

“Oh, lemme guess,” she replied “You’re one of those guys that think only Bud and Coors are _real_ beer.”

He smirked proudly. “Damn straight.”

“Okay tough guy, but my ‘fancy’ craft beers usually have twice the alcohol content,” she replied dryly. “So thanks for the 4% beer, but maybe next time I’ll show you what real booze tastes like.” 

He snorted, secretly pleased with her sass. “You want real booze?” He stood and gathered a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers from the counter. “Let’s see how you handle this.”  He poured them each a shot and downed his smoothly before gesturing for her to copy him. 

She threw hers back and stared at him defiantly. But her eyes were watering. After a moment of triumph, she starting hacking her lungs up.

“Fine,” she wheezed, pulling herself together. “You win. I admit it — I usually stop at beer.” He laughed, filling her glass with water. 

“Let’s call it a draw,” he grinned. “Next time you can pick the beer.”

“Deal.” She was smiling and her cheeks had a cheery, rosy glow from the shot she’d just taken. Dean realized this was the first time he’d really looked at her since Cas had healed her bruises. She was quite pretty.

She seemed to sense him staring and looked away, clearing her throat awkwardly. 

“So how are you planning on finding the tablet?” She asked, gesturing at his open laptop.

“Right now I’m just checking for signs of demon activity,” he said. “If we can trap one and question it, we may be able to find out where they’re keeping the tablet. Chances are, once you escaped Crowley hid it somewhere safe.” 

“Crowley?”

“The King of Hell.”

She stared at him. “Like, the devil?”

“No, that’s Lucifer. He’s an archangel. Crowley’s more like the leader of the demons.”

Stella puffed out her cheeks and took another big gulp of beer. “I don’t want to know anymore,” she said wearily. Dean chuckled.

“It’s a lot, all at once. Don’t worry. We’re handling it.”

They fell into silence before Dean spoke again. 

“Stella, about this afternoon…” She waved him away.

“It’s fine, Dean. It was an accident. I’m the one that pulled away.” 

“It’s not fine. It _was_ an accident, but it shouldn’t have happened. I escalated things too much.”

“It’s fine, really. Cas healed me, remember?” She smiled encouragingly, holding up her wrist and twisting it back and forth. “No harm, no foul.” Dean shook his head, a serious look on his face.

“Stella, I shouldn’t have grabbed you. It was way out of line, especially after…” he trailed off, a pained expression on his face. “Look, I know you don’t know us, Sam and me, but we’d never hurt you. I want you to know you can trust us.” 

She nodded. “Thanks, Dean. I know.” She forced a smile before changing the subject. “So it seems like you and Sam are stuck with me for the time being. Any chance I could get some clothes that actually fit?” She pulled the fabric of Sam’s huge t-shirt away from her torso in explanation. “Not that I don’t enjoy wearing giant’s clothes.”

“Hey!” Sam called, appearing in the kitchen behind her. “Who you calling a giant?”

“Both of you, actually.” She replied, laughing.

“We aren’t giants,” Dean said. “You’re just a shrimp.” 

Stella pretended to take a offense, putting her fists on her hips and glaring at him. “I, sir, am not a shrimp. I’m fun-sized.” He laughed, snorting beer in the process.

“Dude, that’s disgusting.” Sam said, rolling his eyes at Dean. “How tall are you anyway?” He asked Stella curiously.

“Don’t you mean ‘how _short_ are you’?” Dean mused, looking exceedingly proud of his joke.

“Har har DAD,” Stella shot back. “I’m a full five feet and one half inch, I’ll have you know.”

“Yup, SHRIMP. Just like I said.” Dean replied, waggling his eyebrows mischievously. Stella laughed in spite of herself.

“So you can see why I _might_ need some of my own clothes?”

“We’ll do a supply run tomorrow,” Sam said. “And we can get your tattoo while we’re out.”

Stella stopped laughing abruptly. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just stick with the giant’s clothes.”

“It’s okay Shrimp, I’ll hold your hand if you’re scared of needles.” Dean said in a mock-serious tone. Stella raised one eyebrow and shot him the bird before downing the rest of her beer in one gulp.


End file.
